


lure

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Will Graham, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Will Graham, Choking, Creampie, Kitchen Sex, Knotting, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Overstimulation, Rimming, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Top Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23623450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: Hannibal eyes him, and tilts his head. "You challenged Jack because you wanted to see what he would do," he says. Will winces, but can't deny it. "If you challenged me, what do you think I would do?"
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 132
Kudos: 1408
Collections: Hannibal, a/b/o Hannigram





	1. Chapter 1

It's not something Will is ashamed of, per se. Shame suggests that he feels some inherent wrongness within himself for his desires. Shame comes from outside influences – the same ones that tell gay teens they're going to burn in Hell or that masturbating is an affront in the eyes of the Lord or that child-bearers should behave _this_ way or _that_ way to earn respect, to earn the right to live in this chaotic mess of a world.

He's not ashamed. His reservations, when they come, stem purely from an awareness of his own biology, plain and simple. Betas are the neutral ground of the world. They do not rut, they don't go into heat. They can't bear young, they don't have any instinct in them to dominate or submit, to control or serve or assert or flee. They don't get slick and they don't knot.

For the most part, that's a blessing. Will has too much trouble slipping into and out of other people's heads anyway, he doesn't need to add to that with the capability and _desire_ to rip into and tear things apart. Nor to hide or submit to the point of harming himself. God forbid, if he were an alpha – getting into the minds of violent killers or other monsters, he could really hurt someone. If he was an omega, he can't imagine the kind of psychological scarring that would result in navigating something so foreign to his own biology.

So as a beta, he's safer. At least that's what he tells himself. Alphas don't see him as a threat and omegas don't see him as a potential mate. He's not expected to show his throat or to step up and fight for someone's honor, to assert himself in a dangerous situation. Territorial disputes and child-rearing and making a home and family are not paths expected of him.

Will has his house and his dogs and his job. His steadfast and faithful car, his limitless supply of whiskey, his lures. It's easier to fish as a beta; he has no bone-deep hunting instinct that would be bored by so much time spent motionless. His dogs don't crowd him out of some pack animal need to help him nest.

Life as a beta is almost ridiculously flatline, normal, unexciting. His job notwithstanding, it's pretty damn near perfect.

Except Will is curious, by nature. That's where the shame tends to set in.

Doctor Lecter is Will's friend. He is, technically, not Will's psychiatrist. He's an alpha, that much was obvious the second Will saw him, despite his dulled beta-level sense of smell. He's not sensitive to the hormonal dips and rises of alpha and omega pheromones, he doesn't trigger reactions in either of them, either. But he'd known Hannibal was an alpha – the steady and cool eye contact, the haughty confidence just on the right side of arrogance, his stature and demeanor. And, of course, the red flecks in his iris.

Will likes Hannibal. He's calm and measured and flat as a mirror; his mindset, when it touches Will's, does not overcome him like a tidal wave or crush him like a stone. Rather, it knocks politely at the borders of his mind, waiting for Will to let him in. Will could let him in, if he wanted to.

One evening, Will is a little too on edge because Jack's about to go into rut and Will had snapped at him and almost gotten his throat torn out – stupid, testing Jack when he's that red-eyed, but Will is too good at pretending he doesn't notice things and sometimes pride and anger wins out.

He couldn't help himself. "I did _not_ hear that." It would have taken just _something_ , a little too long meeting Jack's eyes in challenge, a twitch of his lip to show his teeth, a low snarl. Jack would have been on him, one meaty hand wrapped around his neck, teeth bared, ready to bite and assert his dominance because Will is a _beta_ and he's part of Jack's pack, even peripherally, and -.

"Will?"

Will snaps out of his thoughts, flushing, and is glad he has no slick or pheromones to give him away. Just a light blush and a twitch of his thighs which, given the warm room and his normal fidgeting, he's sure he can shrug away.

"Sorry," he rasps, and wipes a hand over his face. His forehead feels clammy, or maybe that's his palm. He clears his throat. "What were we talking about?"

Hannibal's head tilts, his lips subtly pursed. He does that when he sees something Will doesn't know he's showing. He's been doing that a lot, recently. "Jack told me about your outburst today." Will huffs, and resists the urge to show his teeth. If he didn't do it to Jack, he _damn_ well won't do it to Hannibal.

 _Outburst,_ like a Goddamn child.

Hannibal's lips twitch at the corners. "You wouldn't call it that?"

"An outburst is surprising," Will grits back. "Out of the blue. Not a result of prolonged buildup."

Hannibal hums, and nods, once. He has one leg crossed over the other, suspended foot in the air between them. Their chairs are close enough that he could extend his leg and nudge Will with his toe. His fingers are laced atop his knee, no notepad today. He doesn't tend to take notes when Will is here, anymore.

"So you have been feeling…aggravated, for quite some time." His tongue curls around the word and Will shivers, presses his lips together. Sighs through his nose and nods. "Has Jack been the source of all of it?"

Will's brow creases.

"I'm merely wanting to know if there is some other frustration in your life. One that, perhaps, could have added to your stressful work environment." Hannibal gives him a smile that makes Will think of crocodiles. His teeth, uneven and sharp, he can see the edges of them. "Something that it might be easier for us to address and resolve."

Will narrows his eyes, sits back in his chair. He spreads his knees and fingers out, and Hannibal's eyes do not stray from his for a moment. Typical alpha behavior – once they sense weakness they go in for the kill. If Will were an omega, he would drop his eyes and bare his throat. If he were an alpha, he would snarl, or rise to his feet, ready to meet the threat head-on.

But he's neither. So he sits and forces himself to meet Hannibal's eyes.

"I'm sure you have your theories," he says quietly.

Hannibal lifts his chin. If he's annoyed by Will's stubborn circling of the issue, he doesn't show it. "I do," he concedes. "But they are half-formed, just out of reach. Too much missing data." Will snorts, lips quirked in a smile. It's easy to smile around Hannibal. Easy to cast out fishing lines of half-truths and let Hannibal nibble at the ones that interest him. It's cathartic, and interesting, to see which things Hannibal bites.

"We have an hour," Will reminds him, hands turning and open in invitation.

"Mm." Hannibal sits forward, correcting his legs so both feet are on the floor, his elbows on his knees. It's rare to see him slouch, much less put his head lower than Will's. Will resists the urge to bring his knees together, to hide his stomach and bring his neck closer to Hannibal's sharp teeth. Hannibal's head tilts, lips pursed just slightly again.

Then, he smiles. "When you snapped at Jack, what did you feel?"

Will wets his lips. Shivers, and looks away. He pets over the back of his neck, feeling the flush return as his thoughts, inevitably, bear down on him like a hunting dog on the shot-down corpse of a pheasant.

"Vindicated," he murmurs. "A release of pressure, like a popped balloon."

"Deflated," Hannibal says, though Will isn't sure it's meant to be a confirmation or correction. He straightens, just slightly, still resting his elbows on his knees. "And what did you imagine would happen, after your comment? Jack is close to rut, and hardly open to criticism on the best of days. But you knew that."

Will did know that. He wanted to test it, pick and prod like a mosquito searching for blood. "I imagined he'd beat the shit out of me," he replies openly, honestly. It's not unheard of, for an alpha to assert himself over a member of his pack. No one would have questioned him. They would have hovered nearby to make sure Jack didn't kill him, but they certainly wouldn't have stopped him from putting Will back in his place.

In the end, it had only taken sharp words. Will isn't stupid. Jack is twice his weight and has fangs on his side. He's lucky to have gotten away with it with little more than a harsh, verbal slap on the wrist.

He swallows.

Hannibal makes another small sound, drawing Will's eyes back to him. "The thought doesn't upset you," he notes.

Will shrugs. "It would have been within his rights."

Hannibal's eyes narrow, for so small a time Will would have missed it if he hadn't already been looking. He draws his knees together, corrects his hands and taps them on the arms of his chair, looking down at his lap.

"Did you want Jack to hurt you, Will?"

"No," Will replies. It's not a lie, but it's skirting the edges of one. No, the thought of Jack's hand around his throat and a fist connecting with his stomach or cheek doesn't exactly appeal to him. But -. He sighs, and shakes his head helplessly. "I just…. I don't know."

Hannibal's eyes flash, and he nods to himself, straightening and sitting back in his seat. The increasing distance feels like a slap on Will's fevered skin. "If you had been an alpha, he would have hurt you, to put you in your place," he says coolly. "If you were an omega, you likely wouldn't have snapped at him in the first place. If you did, one strong word, or merely a look, would have cowed you."

Will's upper lip twitches back.

"You're the only beta in Jack's pack," Hannibal continues, nodding to himself again. "I imagine, combined with your mental abilities, the otherness of your species grates on you more than you would care to admit."

Will frowns. He opens his mouth to reply, but finds he can't. Nothing he would say doesn't make him sound more insane than he already is. He closes his mouth with a click of teeth.

Hannibal gives him a long look, his eyes softening with sympathy. "It's natural to want to feel like you belong somewhere," he says gently. Will winces, and looks away again, to the ladder stretching up to the half wall that borders Hannibal's office. Hannibal isn't wrong, of course he's not – he's smart and observant and he knows more about Will's inner thoughts than anyone else in the world. Betas aren't the majority, these days, since alphas and omegas tend to mate and just make more of themselves. Betas aren't attractive breeding partners when compared to a big knot or a slick ass.

He breathes in, and flexes his fingers. "I guess," he admits, because Hannibal is clearly waiting for him to say something. "But it's not like I chose to be Jack's. It kind of just…happened."

Hannibal's lips turn down at that, just slightly. He's not overly emotive when Will speaks freely; whether he's wary of making Will skittish, or simply content to let him talk, Will hasn't figured that out yet. He's polite with his presence, neither entering Will's mind nor forcing himself upon his emotions. It's terrifying, sometimes, knowing Will's thoughts are entirely his own when he's with Hannibal.

"If you could choose," he says, "would you?"

"Choose what?"

"To be Jack's."

Will's frown deepens, and he meets Hannibal's eyes again. There has been no change, they are as flat and empty as always. Like a mirror. Hannibal shows Will a version of himself he doesn't get to see in other people. With others, he sees what they want him to be. Not what he is.

He swallows, and whispers, "I don't know."

Ah, there it is. A flicker of impatience. Hannibal sighs through his nose and laces his fingers together again, drumming one forefinger against the back of his other hand in a light tap.

Will can't help but smile. "Sorry. Habit. No," he sighs, and rubs a hand through his hair. Shakes his head. "No, I don't think I would."

"Would you rather be on your own?"

"I don't see a string of alphas lining up to bring me in," Will replies, rolling his eyes. It's not unheard of, of course, for alphas or omegas to 'settle' for a beta. Or even, in some circumstances, for all three to cohabitate together. That's always been a pipe dream, along with such sentiments as 'There are plenty of fish in the sea' and 'Tomorrow's a new day'. He shrugs and drums his knuckles against the arms of his chair.

"I'm not suggesting there are," Hannibal tells him, a ghost of a smile on his face. "I was merely asking. If you _do_ want to belong to an alpha, Will, then there are other options than Jack."

"Who?" Will scoffs. "You?"

Hannibal's head tilts. "Is that so impossible?"

Will blinks at him, eyes widening, for a moment too stunned to reply. Hannibal eyes him calmly, as though he has just said nothing more scandalous or interesting than a comment on the weather. Will exhales slowly, so it doesn't come out as a gasp.

"You're kidding," he says weakly.

Hannibal smiles at him, showing those sharp teeth again. "I assure you, when it comes to matters of your wellbeing, I never am," he replies. His voice has gotten lower, words a purr; "I admire and care for you very deeply, Will. I am invested in your mental health, and I will happily admit, find you very attractive, mentally and physically."

Will's eyes widen further. He suddenly wishes he were standing, , or had something to toy with, so that he could do something with his fingers that is more than clenching them into fists.

Hannibal's smile doesn't change. He lifts his shoulders and spreads his hands in an open, accepting gesture. "If this is a one-sided attraction, then we can forget about it entirely, and discuss other things," he says. Like they're talking about what to have for dinner; Hannibal wants red wine, Will wants white.

"It's not one-sided," he says, because it's good to be honest with your friends. And Hannibal is his friend. Will trusts him. Hannibal's smile widens and softens, and his hands come together again across his thigh. "It just seems kind of convenient," he can't help but add in a mutter.

Hannibal laughs. His laugh is low, and smooth, and makes Will's neck prickle, hairs standing on end. "Very convenient," he agrees.

Except it's not.

"I'm a beta, Hannibal. I can't…do shit like a pack member." He doesn't say anything further than that, doesn't even let himself think of the word _mate_ or _omega_. Because, surely, that's what Hannibal would prefer. He's unmated and, while Will is sure he has a pack of his own, they're not close enough to be peers in his work or live in his home. He's a loner and it's rare for an alpha to take a beta as the first in a close-knit pack. Will's head is spinning.

"I'm sure you could," Hannibal replies. "If you opened yourself up to the possibility."

"It's not a question of possibility," Will says. He does his best not to sound like he's arguing, snapping his teeth and baring them. Hannibal is not an alpha he wants to cross if he can help it. His eyes drop to Hannibal's hands, and his treacherous brain supplants him in Will's memories. Instead of Jack, he imagines Hannibal's eyes flashing with outrage. Imagines his snarl rumbling through the air. He's polite and restrained, he wouldn't need to lunge for Will and bite him and mount him to assert himself.

No. But he would want to. And Will might want to let him.

Hannibal's presence knocks, politely, at the door of his mind.

"It's biology," he rasps, swallowing harshly, even as he feels himself opening it. "I'm not -. I don't react like omegas and alphas do."

"Will," Hannibal sighs. "You and I have been friends for quite some time. I am not proposing this arrangement blindly." He smiles, a little crooked, a little too wide. "I am fully aware of who you are as a person, and would not expect you to change for the sake of my sensibilities."

Will swallows. His brain catches, the fishing line jerked, at the word; "And what kind of 'arrangement' are you proposing?"

Hannibal's eyes flash, his lashes lower. His irises are growing slightly redder, pupils dilating just a fraction. Will shivers, and knows his cheeks are pink enough that the warmth in the room cannot be blamed on all of it.

"That you would be mine," Hannibal says. Plainly. Like saying the sky is blue and the sun rises and sets. "Free to explore yourself in a safe environment, free of judgement."

Will stifles a soft growl. "Pretty words," he hisses. "You're asking me to leave my current pack alpha and go to you. I'm going to need details, Hannibal."

Hannibal hums. His eyes, dark though they are, show no aggravation at Will's hissy tone. It's a nice change of pace from Jack, certainly, and tempting enough on its own, but Will still has his job to consider. If he leaves Jack, it's unlikely to come without consequences. Hannibal is a strong alpha, powerful and self-assured, and Will feels safe with him, but that's not enough, either.

"Very well," Hannibal says, after a moment. It's nice to be talked to like an equal, too – no condescension, no rushed annoyance at having to explain himself. And definitely no coaxing purr that would lull an omega into submission. Will swallows, and nods. "If you agreed to it, I would immediately remove you from Jack's direct influence. I would tell him you are sick or otherwise indisposed, and make sure he could not interrupt us." Will tilts his head to one side. "During that time, you and I would enter into a typical pack union for a small trial period, to see if we are compatible on a more intimate social and physical level."

He doesn't mention mental compatibility. Will's grateful for that. If there's anything their not-therapy has shown Will, it's that there might only be one person in the entire world who could understand the way he thinks, and that person is sitting across from him right now.

"So you'd want me to live with you."

"Yes," Hannibal replies. "Provided you could make arrangements to see to your dogs. If not, you would of course tend to them yourself, though I would advise against it, in case Jack decides to stake out your home."

They share a smile, Will's just a little bitter, because he knows Hannibal isn't being entirely facetious. Jack's a dogged and determined son of a bitch when he wants to be.

"If, at the end of the trial period, we prove compatible as pack mates, we would make the arrangement permanent and inform Jack he was no longer your alpha. If not, then we agree that it was a worthwhile experiment, and return to the way things were."

Will hums, pulling in a slow breath. His heart isn't racing, but it's beating heavily. He understands what Hannibal means by social intimacy – simply, if they can stand being around each other for an extended period of time. They might only be able to get along as friends, without the implicit pack dynamics and forced prolonged exposure.

But the physical aspect…. "Are you expecting our relationship to become sexual?" he asks, and is proud of himself for keeping his voice steady.

"Given that we have both expressed a mutual physical attraction, and assuming that does not change after we have shared space for a while, then yes," Hannibal replies calmly. Will's stomach tenses, his neck feels like it's burning. He's not an omega, he's not an alpha, the idea of fucking Hannibal shouldn't get him so riled up. He's not evolved to covet a knot or a bite, and Hannibal isn't meant to want him since he can't get slick, or go into heat, or breed for him.

Yet, here they are.

"I imagine that will come with complications," he rasps.

Hannibal eyes him, and tilts his head. "You challenged Jack because you wanted to see what he would do," he says. Will winces, but can't deny it. "If you challenged me, what do you think I would do?"

"Probably give me a look that every Catholic mother has tried to master for years," Will replies, the joke falling flat. Still, Hannibal smiles, and Will clears his throat. He rubs his hand over the back of his neck and drops his gaze. "I don't know. Probably something…alpha. Hurt me. Mount me. Something."

His breath catches.

Hannibal's smile widens. "Aren't you curious?" he purrs.

Yes. Yes, he's really fucking curious.

"Do you think I'd let you?"

Hannibal fixes him with a low-lidded look, like a cat content with the knowledge that the mouse caught in the trap isn't going anywhere, and will be hunted and devoured at his leisure. "I'm curious," he purrs, and the muscles around Will's spine tense with how hard he shivers.

He swallows loudly, dragging nails along his nape. It doesn't trigger any sense of calm or pliancy in him. It doesn't raise the hairs on the back of his neck and make him ready to fight. He tries to imagine what it would feel like if the stinging pain was made by teeth, instead. Hannibal's teeth. Hannibal's hands on him, wide and warm and strong.

Will clears his throat. "I -. Okay. We can try," he says weakly.

Hannibal smiles, and is on his feet so swiftly Will's breath catches. He watches with wide eyes as Hannibal closes the space between them in a single step. His heart is racing, suddenly – is Hannibal going to start _now_? Will he take Will by the hair and kiss him, make him show his throat, turn him over this chair and -?

He doesn't. He reaches down, palm offered. Will takes it, and allows Hannibal to pull him to his feet.

Hannibal cups his face. That, in and of itself, isn't a completely new thing. Hannibal is tactile, most alphas are. But Will's pulse rushes so heavy he feels dizzy, and he doesn't know how to catch his breath.

Hannibal smiles at him, and gently tucks Will's hair behind his ear. "Go home and make arrangements for your dogs," he commands, and it is a command. An alpha is giving him an order and Jack's orders never felt like that, they never made Will feel _compelled_ to obey. He nods, eyes wide. "Come to my home tomorrow afternoon, and we'll begin."

Will swallows, and winces when Hannibal lets him go. He's herded to the door, actually _herded_ like an omega, and it makes him shiver to know Hannibal's eyes are on his back as he retrieves Will's coat and helps him into it.

He turns, and meets Hannibal's eyes. "How long should I pack for?" he asks.

Hannibal tilts his head, and gives a considering hum. "I think a week should be enough time for us," he says. For _us_. Will likes the way he says that. A week sounds like such a long time. It doesn't feel like enough time.

He nods, and reaches back to fumble for the door handle. "I'll see you tomorrow," he whispers.

"I'll see you then, Will," Hannibal replies. He puts a hand on Will's shoulder as Will leaves the room. "Drive safely."

It's another order. It slides down the back of Will's throat like honey, and he nods, his tongue thick in his mouth, his voice hoarse; "Okay."


	2. Chapter 2

Will has been to Hannibal's house before. Multiple times, as a guest and as a friend and as something toeing the line where if Hannibal's gaze had lingered just a second too long, he might have stayed the night. Betas are generally solitary – not by nature, Will is sure it's not by nature. They're not tigers, or hawks. But they're too prickly to make a home and too soft to defend one. They work jobs beneath the borderline sociopathic alphas that make CEOs and politicians and lawyers, but above those in service and housekeeping, the hotel maids and the waiters and the babysitters.

Will works with murder. He is smart and bullheaded enough to be a teacher. He is too weak and non-resilient and unstable to be out in the field without an alpha to watch over things and make sure he stays safe.

If this – whatever this is, was, is going to be – works out, then Will won't be able to work the field anymore unless Jack and Hannibal come to some kind of reciprocal arrangement that would allow custody and responsibility of Will to be swapped out, like dropping a kid off with his soccer coach. Will's mouth twists at the idea. He knows omegas have it worse.

In truth, there's no legal or mandated command that says Will has to belong to any pack. He could reject both Jack and Hannibal and say to Hell with the whole of it.

But betas are not solitary by nature, no matter what all those studies would have you believe. Just because Will doesn't have extra scent glands and slick or knots or pressure points designed to trigger survivalist reactions in him doesn't mean he's incapable of human connection. Sometimes, to him at least, it's like to be a beta is not to be lesser, but to simply be irrelevant. Like a breakroom vending machine or water fountain – useful, and appreciated for how it makes everyone else's lives a little easier, but ultimately not regarded as necessary when all is said and done.

Will sighs, doing his best to shake himself from the melancholy turn as he gets out of his car and lets the door swing shut. From his trunk he removes the duffle bag he packed, slinging the long strap over his shoulder, his laptop bag above that. Hannibal had said he would do his best to remove Jack from Will's sphere during their trial period, but Will is still a teacher and can't just disappear from his class for a week with no explanation. The substitute will handle his lectures, but if his students have questions, or need something from him, it's his obligation to be in a position to respond.

Hannibal told him to come in the afternoon. The openness of the invitation is out of character for him; normally, he gives invitations down to the minute for his guests. But he's said more than once that his home is always open to his friends. Will might have taken advantage of that too often. Still, there is a foreign thrum in his chest as he crosses the street and mounts the pavement, up onto the little walkway that splits the perfectly manicured lawn in two, leading up to Hannibal's front door. There are butterflies in the bushes and the sun is so warm on his shoulders.

He knocks before he can convince himself not to. If he were to change his mind, to thank Hannibal but ultimately reject him, he doesn't think Hannibal would hold it against him. He must understand, as an alpha, what kind of significance rests on Will's shoulders. It's the equivalent of a married man going on a date with his mistress, right now – Will is still, technically, Jack's, and he's about to cross a line.

He wants to cross that line. He's curious to see what Jack might do, when and if this experiment proves successful and Will is no longer his to command and maintain.

Measured footsteps approach on the other side of the door, and then it opens, revealing Hannibal. He's dressed in the same suits Will normally sees him in, this one a dark slate grey, a splash of red in his tie and pocket square. His eyes are dark, his smile wide and pleased when he meets Will's gaze.

"Good afternoon, Will," he says, and steps to one side, inviting him in. Will ducks his head and crosses the threshold and tries not to think about the fact that the near-silent click of the door closing, the smooth and hollow mechanism of the lock, echo like gunfire in his head. Hannibal makes no move to take his bags, this isn't a hotel.

"Hey," Will replies. The inside of the house smells of cilantro and fat seared into a steak. His mouth waters in reaction, his stomach reminding him, as it has for most of his adult life, that coffee at five in the morning and nothing since is not enough nourishment. Will likes coming to Hannibal's house hungry, because he's always well-fed here, and it doesn't take someone with his gifts to know that Hannibal finds unique pleasure in feeding people.

Hannibal smiles at him, and moves past him, towards the stairs. Will follows without a word, ascending to the upper floor, where he has never ventured despite his numerous visits here. The upper floor of Hannibal's house is paneled wood and soft carpeting, a light cream to offset the darkness of the walls. In one direction, he's sure, lies Hannibal's bedroom. The other holds a short hallway and a series of closed doors.

Hannibal goes to the nearest one, on the right, and opens it to reveal a plainly decorated guest bedroom. The bed is a Queen and sits neatly against the far wall, bathed in afternoon sunlight. The air is stiflingly warm, but doesn't smell dusty or unused. The closet doors embedded in the wall are open and empty.

"This will be your room, while you're here," Hannibal tells him. Will presses his lips together and sets his bags on the edge of the bed. His hand drops, feeling along the soft velvet comforter, which is colored a pale purple that matches the drawn-back curtains.

"I was under the impression you intended for us to sleep together," he says wryly.

Hannibal smiles, his breath escaping him in a low laugh. "It's important to have your own space, regardless," he replies. He doesn't deny Will's sentiment. Will sheds his jacket and folds it over the top of his bags, shoulders rolling under the weight of Hannibal's gaze. He meets Hannibal's eyes and Hannibal beckons him forward, gesturing to two other doors opposite this one. "The guest bathroom is here, and the linen closet has towels and additional blankets and sheets for you to use at your leisure."

Will nods, appreciative of the fact that, though this is certainly not the scenario that warrants him thinking of himself as a house guest, Hannibal is making no overtures to the contrary. This is an arrangement of mutual potential benefit, but traditionally, is taken at the pace of the subservient pack member. Their intimacy is on Will's terms, and it's a level of power and control betas don't normally get. Because they are utilitarian and unnecessary.

Hannibal doesn't make him feel unnecessary.

"I need to check on dinner," Hannibal tells him, and Will nods. He sheds his shoes and socks, taking advantage of the implied long visit, and feels warm when Hannibal's eyes flash in approval at seeing him making himself comfortable. He follows Hannibal back into the kitchen, the space as familiar to him as his own home.

There are three bottles of wine on the kitchen island counter. They are unopened, and darkly colored, so he cannot tell if it's white or red or rose inside. There are no labels, and Will knows Hannibal brews his own drinks at home, so he approaches the bottles with a curious rumble, but with no suspicion.

Hannibal smiles at him. There are wild greens and a cutting board on the other side of the counter, by the stove. "I thought you might choose our accompanying wine tonight," Hannibal tells him.

Will's brow furrows. "What are we having?"

"Something that will equally suit whatever choice you make, not to worry."

Will presses his lips together, his frown deepening. He considers the bottles. They're not corked, merely twist-offs, so he doesn't fear making a choice he can't come back from. That thought registers dimly, like the drums in a song, momentarily stealing his focus.

"Can I taste them, or am I just picking at random?"

Hannibal hums. "Taste, smell, whatever you'd like," he replies.

Will nods, drumming his fingers on the counter. He eyes the bottles. They all look exactly the same as each other, and since they're sealed, he can catch no trace of varying scents just by trying to breathe in. He tilts his head as Hannibal turns away from him, dicing up onions and brussel sprouts with an expert rhythm.

"This is a test," Will says, and it's not a question.

He lifts his eyes to watch Hannibal's shoulders lift and fall in a cavalier shrug. "Only because the result will tell me something about you," he replies. "Not in the sense of there being a wrong answer." He turns, when Will doesn't respond, and gives him another fond smile. "I promise, Will, there's no incorrect answer."

Will nods to himself, and moves away from the bottles, to one of Hannibal's cabinets where his smaller wine glasses are stored. He takes three, understanding dimly that he doesn't want to contaminate the taste, and sets one in front of each bottle. He opens the one on the right, first, twisting off the top and pouring himself a little more than a mouthful.

He replaces the lid of the wine and sets it down, taking the drink in hand. It's a dark red, thick and syrupy. He lifts it to his nose, breathing in. It smells incredibly sweet, like maple. He takes a small sip, testing; there's a tang that hits his tongue first, of ripe cherries and just a hint of something he can only relate to cinnamon. The flavor of the wine fogs in his mouth and makes his throat feel thick. He drinks more of it. It tastes good, but it's very heavy and he thinks if he were to have a full glass, it would weigh down his skull and make him sleepy.

He tries not to wonder if Hannibal wants that. It would be best for his health, he thinks, if he didn't try to think too hard about the motivations and reasoning behind Hannibal's actions during this experiment.

He realizes, as he sets the first glass down and moves to the second, that Hannibal would probably find that thought amusing. The pack alpha's word is law, after all, and their subordinates are expected to show a certain amount of trust and loyalty, a sheep-like devotion. If Will doesn't ask questions, doesn't fight back against Hannibal's designs, and becomes passive for him, then it's as much a victory as if he played along.

The head begins to ache from the thoughts spinning around and around, and he pours himself a second glass. This one is lighter, but still a deep red, and smells more floral than the other one. It has a crispness Will would normally associate with white wines, something borderline salty that makes his throat go dry, makes him aware of the dullness of his own beta fangs.

He finishes that one, and moves on to the third. Hannibal is, perhaps deliberately, not watching him through the process. He continues to cut and peel and happily slice away, mixing the vegetables in a pan to fry with oil. It pops and bubbles loudly in the heat, and Will watches him move to check the roast in the oven, before he turns his attention back to the third bottle.

This wine is almost black for how dark it is. Syrup clings to the edges of the glass as Will swirls it around, taking a deep inhale. It smells…like nothing at all. A vague sweetness, but he can't place the scent of it as anything he's tried before. Frowning, curious, he tips the glass up and takes a sip.

Flavor explodes across his tongue like a firework, making him gasp. It's _spicy_ , almost, burning the roof of his mouth and lining the edges of his gums. It feels like he bit directly into a ghost pepper, laced with honey and rosewater. He likes it, despite the initial shock. It drives the fog from the first wine completely out of his head, makes him feel almost painfully alert. He wonders if there's some sort of coffee extract in it, caffeine to make his brain sit up at attention.

He sets the wine down with a gasp, and Hannibal turns at the sound. He smiles. "What's the verdict?" he purrs.

"They're all delicious," Will replies, clinging to the notion that he should remain polite and accommodating, for this is Hannibal's home, and he wants to be a good house guest. He wants Hannibal to like having him around. It's a dull and weak-minded desire, but he's helpless to resist it.

"Do you have a favorite?" Hannibal presses. Will knows he won't let Will get away with meaningless platitudes.

Will swallows, looking down at the third wine, and then the second. "I guess this one," he says, gesturing to the middle bottle. It had been the least offensive, the gentlest flavor. "But this one is…." He lifts the glass he's holding and shakes his head. "I like this one a lot too."

Hannibal smiles widely, and though Will knows he said there was no wrong answer, he can't help but shiver, because the way Hannibal is looking at him, Will knows he chose the correct one. "We'll have the middle one, then," he says, and comes to the counter, gathering the other dirty glasses and the rejected wine bottles, leaving the middle set behind. Will goes back to the cabinet to fetch a second glass for Hannibal, and pours them both a generous amount.

"The roast still needs some time," Hannibal tells him, gathering up his glass when Will offers it. He takes a sip, and gestures for Will to leave the kitchen. Will obeys, letting Hannibal herd him through the dining room, and into the study. Will has been here before, too, though far less often. The dark walls lined with bookshelves, the thick-cushioned and broad couches, the impressive fireplace and the harpsichord in the corner are all familiar to him.

He takes a seat on the left couch, Hannibal on the right, mirroring him. Will knows that behavior; it's meant to foster a feeling of intimacy, mimicry suggesting synchronicity and a mutual understanding. He folds one leg over the other, resting the bottom of his wine glass on his knee, and smiles when Hannibal does the same. He sits back, and Hannibal does as well, though he doesn't go so far as to slouch. He reclines, lazy and low-lidded like a full-bellied cat.

"So," Will says, and nods to their wine glasses. "Are you going to tell me what you did to this one?"

Hannibal smiles at him, showing his teeth. "Where's the fun in that?" he purrs, taking another drink. Will mimics him, because he knows Hannibal isn't immune to the effect either. The salty flavor of the wine coats his tongue, makes him want more of it. Maybe that's part of the charm; the more Will drinks, the looser he'll get, the more open he'll be to Hannibal's less-than-subtle prodding.

He sighs. "Did Jack protest this arrangement much?" he asks, sure that Hannibal has already spoken to him.

"He seemed more confused than anything else," Hannibal replies. If he's lying, or stretching the truth, Will can't tell. He seems honest enough, but then again, he always does. "I suspect he thinks that this will be a fruitless endeavor – a necessary act of rebellion after how he behaved towards you before."

Will arches a brow. "He thinks I'm sneaking out to see the boyfriend he doesn't approve of?" he scoffs. "He's not my father."

"No, but I think we can agree he feels a certain amount of responsibility for you, paternal or not," Hannibal replies. "It's natural for alphas to become protective of their pack members." He smiles. "Even the difficult ones."

"Did you tell him the _exact_ nature of this arrangement?" Will challenges, eyes narrowing.

Hannibal's smile widens. "Did I tell him that I intend to steal you away from him forever, and provide you the mental and physical satisfaction you're sorely lacking? No." Will flushes. Hannibal often talks in circles and flowery metaphors; it's rare for him to get straight to the point, and when he does, Will always feels a little off balance. "I thought it best not to tell him, in case the next week proves we are not, in fact, compatible."

"You know me better than anyone," Will says in a whisper, taking another drink. "If you can't hack it, I'm not sure there's much hope for someone else." It's a vulnerable thing to admit, but Will is sure Hannibal is under no illusion, and probably agrees with him.

"Flattering," Hannibal murmurs, "but unnecessary, Will. I don't require placation. Quite the opposite, in fact – if I wanted an easy omega or beta, who would simply be quiet and polite and do as I told them, I would have one already."

"But you _do_ want obedience," Will says. He's sure of that. "It would almost be a point of pride, to be able to cow someone like me, as if I was an omega."

Hannibal's eyes flash, at that. Will struck a nerve, though he's not sure in what manner. He doesn't think he's wrong; Hannibal is a proud man, and having a beta as loyal to him as any bonded and mated omega would be quite the achievement.

He's getting ahead of himself. Even if this does work out, and Will becomes a member of Hannibal's pack, and they fuck and everything else, it doesn't make him a mate. Bites are needed for that, bonds are necessary for that. Betas aren't incapable of bonding, he knows it's possible, but it's more difficult. A harder chase for a lesser reward.

The melancholy thoughts are back, and with wine making his eyelids feel heavy, with no food in his stomach to absorb it, they are harder to shake off.

"I hope," Hannibal finally says, "that whatever we end up being to each other, it's a little more nuanced than that."

"I've offended you," Will says.

"Nothing I didn't expect," Hannibal replies lightly. He shifts his weight and purses his lips. "You have decades of social conditioning on your shoulders, being told you're lesser, in a much different way than an omega might." He smiles again. "As you said, I know you better than anyone. It would be foolish of me not to acknowledge the additional obstacles in an arrangement such as ours."

"Obstacles," Will repeats. "For you to navigate, or push straight through?"

"I suppose that's up to you, isn't it?" Hannibal murmurs, his eyes dark. "To answer the question I can feel you building towards; yes, I intend to test you. Several times. Not with the implication that you will fail at any point, but so that I can establish a baseline and note any demonstrable changes."

Will frowns. "What kinds of changes are you expecting?"

"Subtle ones," Hannibal tells him with another knowing smile. He takes another drink of his wine and Will does the same, swallowing harshly as it does nothing to appease his dry mouth.

The wine makes him feel brave. "I don't want to do this subtly, Doctor Lecter," he says, harsh and curt. "I fully intend to sleep in your bed tonight."

Hannibal smiles, in a way that makes Will think, somehow, he passed another test. The oven timer beeps, breaking the silence, and Hannibal sighs, pushing himself to his feet in an effortless, graceful move.

He holds his hand out to Will, who takes it, allowing Hannibal to pull him to his feet as he did the day before, in his office. The sudden heat and proximity of the alpha makes his breath catch, his mouth feel even more dry. He can't help thinking that Hannibal isn't being affected like he is – whatever he did to the wine, it's something that was carefully chosen to make Will react a certain way.

Hannibal releases his hand and cups Will's flushed cheek, and Will gasps, lashes fluttering low. His head feels so heavy and Hannibal is strong. He would be able to bear Will's weight easily, if Will were to rest his head on his shoulder.

"Come, Will," Hannibal purrs, his voice low and smooth. He leads Will back into the dining room and gestures for him to take his seat. Will obeys the unspoken command, feeling warm when Hannibal's eyes darken with approval once again.

Hannibal sets his glass down at his place, and disappears to fetch dinner. By the time he returns with the roast and vegetables, Will's stomach is rumbling loudly and his mouth is so dry it's starting to become a distraction. The juice dripping from the roast looks like it'll be the best thing he's ever tasted.

He understands, dimly, that Hannibal feeding him and providing for him is another alpha compulsion. Omegas traditionally keep the home and cook, but nourishing his guests is something Hannibal takes great pride in. He doesn't give Will any water and at this point Will doesn't want to ask. He wants to submit to Hannibal's design, to be given food and drink when Hannibal deems it necessary. There's a certain freedom in Hannibal's capability and control; Will doesn't have to think about anything. He just has to push past his feelings of shame and embrace his curiosity, wherever that leads.

It's a terrifying thought. It's a comforting thought. The roast is rich and bloody and sweetened on the top with a dark brown glaze and Will is ravenous. He lets out a quiet sigh of pleasure when he's done, his stomach heavy as his head.

Hannibal smiles at him, and stands to refill his wine glass. It's Will's third.

"I don't know if I should have another," Will says, but doesn't protest as he watches Hannibal fill his glass well past half-way.

"You don't have to finish it," Hannibal tells him. "But there's plenty more."

"I'm worried that if you get me drunk you'll give some bullshit about consent, and refuse to touch me."

Hannibal's eyes darken, a momentary softening of his features in something dangerously close to surprise. "You've already given your consent," Hannibal says with a smile, recovering quickly. "Unless you're planning on retracting it, later. Which you can, of course – I am many things, but I find no pleasure in taking advantage of an unwilling or unenthusiastic bedmate."

Will shakes his head, and meets his eyes. "No," he breathes. "I won't."

Hannibal's smile is wide, and wolfish. Promising. His answer, when it comes, is a purr; "Good." And it makes Will feel warm down to his bones.


	3. Chapter 3

Will half-expected the entire night to hold a sharp-edged anticipation, that would distract him from the simple pleasure of sharing a fine meal provided by his friend. But it doesn't. The wine gentles Will's tongue and soothes the thrum in his heart, and the food is delicious, warming his belly and making him feel heavy and full.

They talk about many things. Will asks about the sheet music he saw sitting at the stand on Hannibal's harpsicord and learns that Hannibal composes, and plays several instruments. He tells Hannibal about his fishing habit, how he finds a quiet stream relaxing, something he does to clear his mind as well as provide food for himself.

"Fishing is a delicate sport," Hannibal says. "It requires patience, skill, and a supreme amount of knowledge I doubt those outside the practice are ever truly aware of."

Will smiles, pleased by the subtle praise.

"Do you make your own lures?" Hannibal asks him.

Will nods. "I don't like blaming any fruitless endeavor on materials," he replies. Hannibal's eyes flash at that, his head tilting just slightly.

"Do you take every failure personally?" he murmurs. His voice is soft, smooth, lacking both judgement or surprise.

Will takes a sip of wine. The flavor has a build-up effect, he has found. It stains the meat and vegetables, making them sweeter, and his mouth is flooded with saliva. "It's easier for me to identify and correct personal failures than try to fix those in others."

Hannibal smiles. "A very beta mindset," he says quietly. "But you're not above manipulation, Will."

"What makes you say that?"

"Observation." Hannibal sets his glass down. He's finished with his meal, masterfully able to continue eating even when it seems like he never stops talking. He doesn't talk with his mouth full, and punctuates statements and observations with sips of wine, but he still eats faster than Will. Will turns his attention back to his remaining bites, able to feel Hannibal's eyes on him. "Omegas are often touted as the pinnacle of awareness and manipulation – they have to be, to compensate for their biological traits. I have found that mindset, like much when it comes to betas, erroneous."

"Do you think I've manipulated you?" Will asks, taking another bite of meat.

"Not consciously," Hannibal says, and then he smiles. "Though perhaps that is more a testament to your skill, or my inability to resist anything that gives me the notion of your resulting happiness."

Will flushes, and clears his throat.

"You're usually more subtle," he rasps.

Hannibal tilts his head again. "The nature of my profession compels me to provide gentle nudges, instead of outright telling people the answer. It's more satisfying for both parties for a patient to reach conclusions on their own. But," he smiles, "you are not my patient."

"It makes me wonder how long you've been waiting for an opportunity like this," Will says, his voice hoarse. He tries to gentle his tongue on wine, but finds that it only makes him sharper; "You sensed a weakness in my relationship with Jack and lunged for it."

Hannibal doesn't deny it, which Will appreciates. "I confess, Will, I have found you fascinating from the moment we met." Will hums. Fascinating. Not a word often associated with betas. "I simply wanted to get a measure for who you are as a person. Fantasies, while satisfying, are unfair to project onto an unwilling subject."

Will's brow creases as he considers that. "So you've wanted…this," he gestures, vaguely, to the food and the fireplace and this arrangement as a whole, "for a while."

"Yes." Hannibal says it openly. He's not the kind of man to be ashamed of what he wants or how he feels. Will envies that, with a fervor that feels like claws in his flesh. Hannibal sits forward, his glass back in his hand, his gaze unwavering, unblinking, like a wildcat sizing up a gazelle it intends to chase. "But I think you knew that."

Will swallows. "I suspected."

"And what about you, Will?" Hannibal presses. "I think we can both admit that this arrangement relies on your consent, and your feelings, much more than mine. Were I anyone else, less inclined to rely on your permission and acceptance, I could simply go above your head and fight Jack for the right to claim you as part of my pack, but that goes against both of our natures."

Will nods. The reminder doesn't trouble him as much as it should. Yes, Will has the right to reject any potential offer to join a pack, even if people would frown at him and wonder why he would do such a thing. But Hannibal would be well within his rights to simply bypass Will's feelings on the matter entirely, and go straight to Jack to get what he wanted.

The idea of Hannibal physically fighting Jack makes him shiver. He's not sure it annoys him as much as it should. An omega would fawn at the idea, of two alphas snarling at each other and fighting for him like a scrap of meat. But Will is not an omega.

"That was more of a statement than a question," he rasps.

Hannibal smiles, indulgently, lashes low. "I suppose I'm curious," he replies lightly. "When you thought about settling down, taking a mate or marrying, did you fantasize that it would be with an alpha? Or an omega, perhaps." He tilts his head. "Assuming you have given it any thought at all."

"Like you said," Will murmurs, meeting his eyes. It's proving more difficult to do so than usual. "Projecting fantasies onto an unwilling subject is unfair."

"But did you have a subject, unwilling or otherwise?" Hannibal's smile is somehow so sharp, even though it hasn't changed from the friendly, absent expression he normally wears. Will is too aware of his teeth, kept behind the stretch of his lips. He wonders, if he showed his own, he might be given a glimpse of Hannibal's in answer.

"I suppose it was just…someone who knew me," he replies. Hannibal is his friend, and you should be honest with your friends. "Someone who didn't care that I was a beta, no matter what they were." He clears his throat and nudges the last few straggling bites of vegetables with his fork, seeking something to do to keep his hands occupied. "A relationship that lives or dies on the merits of my behavior, not my biology."

"A noble desire," Hannibal replies, sitting back again. Will's free hand flexes, he wants Hannibal to stay close to him. Needs him farther away; it's hard to breathe when Hannibal is staring at him so steadily, unwavering, tall and towering as a monument. He breathes in shakily and dulls his teeth on his wine.

"You have to admit, it would be different," Will says. "If I was an omega. Or an alpha. At least that way this would be more…." He's not sure what the right word is. 'Open' isn't quite right, for they have had conversations as intimate and detailed as any Will has had before. 'Satisfying' isn't right either, because Will doesn't think he would be unsatisfied with Hannibal's attempts to court him should they become more overt.

'Easy', maybe, though he bristles at the implication that it's difficult simply because Will doesn't get slick and go panting for any knot around him like a bitch in heat.

He doesn't like those thoughts. He doesn't like the flare of jealousy he gets when he thinks of alphas and omegas. How more assured they're allowed to be, content that someone somewhere _will_ find them desirable simply through the merit of their pheromones and scent glands.

Hannibal's lips purse, in that way he does when Will shows him something unseen and unfelt by Will himself. He cradles his wine glass against his stomach, one hand cupped beneath the base, the other trailing idle fingers up and down the stem.

"Just as a fisherman might catch more fish with a net instead of one by one, with custom lures and patience and time," Hannibal finally says, lips quirking in another smile. "There is something to be said for specific appetites, Will."

"I'm sure you know exactly what you want," Will says. "I don't have that luxury."

Hannibal's lashes lower in a single, slow blink, like a sunning cat.

"And you're still unsure why, with my luxury and instincts, I would be attracted to someone like you." Will bites his lower lip, feels his cheeks heating up and grow a fraction darker. "I suppose it's the same reason you mentioned: I would prefer to be with someone who knew me." He smiles. "If I was a beta, or an omega, would you still be curious?"

Will sucks in a breath. That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? He can't deny, when he has succumbed to his need for closeness, his right hand and darkness his only companions, it's rarely a beta or omega he fantasizes about. That thing they're skirting without saying outright:

Will has thought about Hannibal, more often than not, in ways that are distinctly not just within the realm of friendship. When his helpless mind, lost in sweat and fever, imagines hands touching him, imagines a voice, a purr, sharp teeth at his neck – those belong to Hannibal. And he's not entirely certain if it's because Hannibal was a safe fantasy, some unattainable person who could in no way be construed as weaker than him by society. He is far above Will, in both biology and status and means, so there's no way Will can feel perverse, guilty, over thinking about him like that.

It would be different if Hannibal were a beta. Will might have actually acted on it, before, if they were of equal standing. If Hannibal were an omega though….

"I think I would be," he replies, "but we wouldn't be here, if you were." Hannibal would probably belong to a pack already if he wasn't an alpha, and Will would have to approach that alpha and ask for permission, just like Hannibal did with Jack.

The complex social hierarchies of secondary gender is like a bubble he sits on the edge of, grudgingly welcomed by the rest of society, but largely ignored, left to shiver and keep to himself in the cold. "It's a non-issue," he adds.

Hannibal hums.

Will sets his fork down, giving up on the idea that he might finish his meal. He's overstuffed already, and with the wine and Hannibal's gaze, feels prickly and too full, like he might burst at the seams. Hannibal eyes him for merely a moment, before he stands, and gathers their plates. Will stands as well – he's not a house guest, he's a potential pack member, and so he shouldn't just let Hannibal wait on him like a guest.

Hannibal's eyes flash with approval. He smiles, and gives Will the plates, and takes the glasses and the bottle of wine himself. He leads them back into the kitchen and Will goes to the sink, and scrapes his remaining food into the garbage disposal, rinsing the dishes as Hannibal refills their glasses, killing the bottle, and sets the empty bottle to one side.

Will almost jumps out of his skin at the gentle squeeze of Hannibal's large hand on his shoulder, and Hannibal gently guides him to step to one side. He hands Will a cloth to dry the dishes and takes over washing them himself, the water steaming as he turns it hot and scrubs at them. The roasting dish has been soaking in the sink and the clinging clumps of grease and fat schlep off like sunburned skin. Will dries each dish he's given and places it on the rack, not quite familiar enough with Hannibal's kitchen layout to know where everything goes.

It's a meditative task, calming in its domesticity and rote motions. Will feels calmer, by the end, as Hannibal hands him the last plate, and turns off the water. He takes the cloth back from Will and dries his hands, and sets it down on the counter to dry.

Will wets his lips and meets his eyes. "Is this the part where you take me upstairs and fuck me?" he asks.

Hannibal laughs at the direct question, his eyes gleaming with affection. "Would you like me to?" he replies.

Will rolls his eyes, huffing. "It feels weird that you've barely touched me this whole time," he confesses. It's too early for them to go to bed, especially if Hannibal wants to pretend, despite Will's declaration, that they will be in separate rooms, or simply sleep side by side.

"Stimulating the senses is an intimate act, Will," Hannibal replies. He doesn't move away, seems to have no desire to put more distance between them. His eyes, dark and threaded with red, feel like an anvil inside Will's chest. "And you are a sensitive creature. I don't wish to overwhelm you."

"If I was an omega, you wouldn't hesitate," Will can't help but snap. Hannibal's eyes flash again, his lips thinning. Will struck another nerve, but this time he knows exactly which one he aimed for. His lack of fawning response must grate on Hannibal at some level – for all he knows, Hannibal has been purring and growling and pouring scent, unregistered on Will's dulled beta senses. It's tantamount to rejection, though no more deliberate than a blind person being unable to pick out a red car from a blue one.

And he knows, objectively, that this is unfair. It's Will's responsibility to make the first move, to give over his permission and consent. The subservient potential pack member makes the rules and decides the pace.

Hannibal sighs through his nose. Behind his eyes, Will can see many thoughts working together in tandem, observations and projections and desires, too many to name. "I wouldn't," Hannibal admits. Will blinks, surprised to hear Hannibal admit that kind of thing outright. "But you would also be unable to resist me, or deny me. It would potentially be -."

"Hannibal," Will hisses. "I deserve to know what I'm accepting, or rejecting." Hannibal tilts his head curiously. "You've seen me at some of my most vulnerable moments. If you can't show me the same, then this isn't going to work."

Hannibal's lips quirk up, just subtly, in a smile. "I agree," he begins, and takes a step impossibly closer, until Will's vision is dominated by his smile and gleaming eyes. Will doesn't even see his hand move, until Hannibal cups his chin and Will gasps, his neck going lax as Hannibal tilts his head up, forcing him to bare his neck. There are no scent glands there to exploit, no oversensitive nerve endings to find and tease and torture, but Will's skin is warm and the hairs on the back of his neck all stand on end. There is a predator in his midst, Will knows it. Hannibal's sharp teeth denote him as such.

Will can't help the whimper that escapes him when Hannibal's lips touch his neck. Hannibal's free hand untucks part of his shirt from his slacks, slides wide and warm over Will's fevered, sensitive skin, and grips him firmly at the waist. Hannibal's teeth edge along the thrumming line of his pulse and Will gasps.

"Shh," Hannibal says, soothing, but in a way a gentle fan might make a flame leap tall. Hannibal's fingers flatten, his hand fits perfectly over Will's neck, palm cradling the jut of his Adam's apple, nails curling around the tendon on the other side like Will has a physical handhold he can grab. Hannibal nudges the hinge of Will's jaw, forcing his head up higher, tilted further back. There are no scent glands there, but Hannibal presses close and breathes in deeply, raggedly, and lets out a snarl so powerful Will feels it tighten around his bones like a crushing grip.

Hannibal's hand slides to his nape, curls in his hair, fingernails scratching up the curve of his skull and spreading out, clenching to keep him still. Will is panting already, his hands flexing helplessly by his sides. He wants to grab, he wants to touch and reach and beg. He wants to stay perfectly still and see what else Hannibal does before one of them snaps and they lunge for each other like dogs.

Hannibal finishes scenting his neck, brushes their cheeks together. His cologne – or maybe that's his natural scent, Will doesn't have a sensitive enough nose to tell the difference – is sharp and sweet like sugared lemon.

Hannibal's teeth close around the arch of his ear and Will sags, grabbing at his shoulders tightly, his knees threatening to buckle. It's an instinct, more reactionary than anything else, to turn his head and shove his face into Hannibal's neck above the starched collar of his shirt. He moans weakly as Hannibal tugs on his ear, hand gripping his hair tightly to stop him moving into the motion. His other hand, steady and warm on Will's flank, tightens.

From the second Hannibal stepped up into his space, desire coiled in Will's stomach, and now it pulses, flaring hotly until he feels it in his chest, in his head. His hands shake and his breath is coming in rough gasps, and maybe Hannibal was right – if he's already so affected, he can't fathom how incoherent he'll be when Hannibal finally takes him upstairs. He's salivating for it, too much wine and saliva in his mouth, coating his tongue.

He licks over Hannibal's pulse and Hannibal shivers against him, growling low in answer. He kisses the corner of Will's jaw and takes in another ragged breath.

"You affect me very deeply, Will," he says, purring the words into Will's ear in a way that makes him shiver. "I find myself wanting to touch and taste every inch of you. To devour you whole."

"I can take it," Will rasps, gritting his teeth.

Hannibal laughs. "You will," he promises darkly.

"Please, Hannibal," Will whispers. "Please don't tease me."

Hannibal's answering rumble is loud, and Will feels it in his hands, against his mouth. He shivers when Hannibal's hand moves from his flank and tugs at the buckle of Will's belt, unfastening it with ease. Will gasps, surprised despite himself that Hannibal would go so far in his own kitchen. The kitchen had always seemed like a kind of liminal space, above the laws of thinks like physics and time, perfectly preserved as a spotless, radiant place. To dirty it with something so carnal excites Will. He imagines Hannibal bending him over the kitchen island, where only an hour ago a feast was being prepared. Will is another feast for him, eagerly offered up.

Hannibal doesn't turn him, doesn't push him down with a hand in his hair and his cheek to the cool granite. He unbuckles Will's belt and unfastens his slacks, giving his hand room enough to flatten and slide down Will's belly, inside. Will sags when Hannibal's warm fingers wrap around his cock, leaking already, so hard and sensitive just that touch is enough to throw him right to the edge.

"Be still," Hannibal whispers, and that's the only warning Will gets before Hannibal pulls back, and sinks to his knees. He gasps, eyes wide and hands grabbing frantically for purchase on his strong shoulders, as Hannibal takes him out and licks the beading precum at the head with no preamble. His eyes are dark when he meets Will's, and their gazes lock, hold, as Hannibal parts his lips and takes Will into his mouth.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Will breathes, his thighs shaking, knees unable to lock. He uses Hannibal's shoulders as support, bowed over him, one hand pawing at the back of his head as Hannibal sinks down further on him, taking him to the root with ease. Hannibal's mouth is so hot and wet on the inside, his tongue forcing Will up against the rough roof of his mouth, so Will's cock drags between the dual rough sensations, into the divinely soft flesh of his throat. Hannibal's throat clenches around him, if he has a gag reflex he's fighting it with ease.

Will can't fight the urge to widen his stance, to plant his feet and tense, rocking his hips in tiny thrusts, chasing that heat, that tightness. It feels almost too fucking good to be true, watching Hannibal, his cheeks flushed and lips bruising under the abuse. His cheeks hollow as he sucks, pulling back until he can flutter his tongue around Will's cockhead, tease the sensitive bundle of nerves beneath the flared head, lick up his precum like sweet glaze. It's consumption, Will realizes. Hannibal is on his knees, but Will has no illusions about who is in control, here.

He threads his fingers through Hannibal's fine hair, grips just to hold onto something more than any instinct to hold him still or force him to take more. Hannibal hums – a quiet, pleased sound that makes the muscles in his throat tense around Will again – and sinks down onto him once more. His hands wrap around Will's thighs, holding him steady.

Will isn't going to last long. He never stood a fucking chance. He tips his head back, jaw clenched, breathing unsteadily through his nose as he tries to hold back, tries to make this last. But Hannibal is as merciless with this as he is with everything else – Will threw a lure out and Hannibal swims right up to it and takes it for his own.

"I'm -," he tries to warn. Hannibal merely looks up at him, eyes bright with affection and pleasure. He quickens his pace, though it's still almost unbearably slow, languid. He's being savored, consumed at Hannibal's leisure.

He feels it, first, in his hands. They tremble, nails tightening in Hannibal's hair until they cut into his own palms, in his jacket until the material creases and wrinkles in his white-knuckled grip. His feet slip inside his own shoes, his thighs tense for purchase, seeking something to ground himself in. When Hannibal works a hand deeper into his clothes and presses, assured and firm, behind Will's balls, stroking the sweaty, soft slip of skin, Will feels it all the way up in his throat.

He comes with a rough cry, flooding Hannibal's mouth. His heart races in his chest and his stomach joins his head in the freefall, every ounce of strength rushing out of him and into Hannibal's mouth. Hannibal swallows, taking it easily, purring loud enough for Will to hear as he tongues at Will's pulsing cock and strokes his perineum firmly.

It feels like it goes on forever, and when Will has nothing more to give, Hannibal's lips tighten and he sucks until Will whimpers, oversensitive. He flinches but doesn't have the strength to pull away, to fight Hannibal's grip on him. He's caught, he's trapped in Hannibal's claws, he's not going anywhere.

He finds that thought more settling than anything else.

Hannibal has mercy on him, once he has pulled enough whimpers from Will's tender lungs and brought tears of oversensitivity to his eyes. He lets Will's cock slip from his mouth and tucks him back in, rising to his feet in a graceful motion. His mouth is bruised, lips even more soft-looking than normal, a deep flush on his face.

Will grabs him by the lapels of his suit jacket and throws himself into a kiss. He can taste himself on Hannibal's tongue, and tests the sharpness of those teeth with his own. Hannibal cups his head and pushes him back against the counter, pinning him, trapping him. Will doesn't know if his heart will ever grow steady, if he'll be able to breathe again without Hannibal helping him, feeding him air and wine and physical affection.

He kisses Will as eagerly and easily as he has done everything else – no hesitation, no decorum. His eyes, barely visible beneath his low lashes, are a fever-warm red now, alpha instinct reared up and blinking curiously at this creature that has wandered into his den and made itself at home. Will wants to crawl inside his chest and never come up for air.

He can feel Hannibal, hard and hot between Will's thighs, which are spread in invitation. Hannibal bites down gently on his lower lip and Will moans, rough and unsteady, nails clinging to his back. He can't get it up again so soon, but that doesn't matter; he wants Hannibal. He wants Hannibal to feel that good, to never stop looking at him like that, like a starving man might eye a five-course meal.

Hannibal smiles at him, unruffled, as if he didn't just bare Will to the bone and drain him dry. He thumbs at Will's red cheek and kisses the corner of his gasping mouth.

"Please," Will whines, showing his throat. Not out of instinct, not like an omega might do to any alpha. He does it because it's Hannibal. He wants Hannibal to see and touch every vulnerable piece of him. If it feels half as good as that just did, he would happily become catatonic with bliss. There isn't anything Hannibal could do to him now that he wouldn't like.

That's a dangerous thought, an intoxicating level of surrender. He's not ashamed.

"Take me upstairs."

Hannibal's eyes, black and narrowed, promise to destroy him, to tear him apart and peruse the pieces at his leisure. He noses at Will's offered neck and edges his teeth along Will's racing pulse. His touch is a question, a _'let me'_ and _'obey me_ ' and Will is helpless to resist it.

He takes Will's hand, and smiles. "Shall we?"

Will nods, breathing hard, and follows Hannibal out of the kitchen, towards the stairs.


	4. Chapter 4

Hannibal's bedroom is as opulent as the rest of his house, though closer to the side of tasteful elegance than garish ostentation. The bedsheets are a swirling mix of teal and blue, which makes Will smile. He wants to think Hannibal chose that particular color scheme for Will's eyes – the dark wooden frame, which compliments his hair. The miniature sitting arrangement that echoes his office space. The art on the walls, both his own and that of others, designs from outside and inside influences coming to happy harmony in this sacred space.

The door closes behind Hannibal, and Will swallows as he hears a locking mechanism engage. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The door to the master bathroom is closed and the curtains drawn to hide them away from the outside world.

This is another liminal space, he realizes. A place where time and consequence cease to matter. A place where shame and judgement are left at the threshold.

Hannibal's hand touches his hip and Will shivers as Hannibal's lips grace his throat, soft as silk and warm. "You have time to reconsider," he murmurs, his voice little more than a purr now, perfectly evolved to vibrate Will's inner ear and send goose bumps down his back. A voice like that, he's sure, if he were an omega, would send him to his knees without a thought.

He swallows again, eyes on the bed. "I'm not going to reconsider," he says, and tilts his head. Hannibal nudges Will's cheek with his nose, and kisses the flush there. "You know I _have_ had sex before, Hannibal," he adds, laughing.

"I am aware," Hannibal replies with another smile. Then, quietly; "With an alpha?"

It would be incendiary to lie. Taunting to tell the truth. The truth is that, no, he hasn't. He's only fucked one omega in his life, too. Betas are simpler. Will can only disappoint or impress them by nature of his performance, not something he can't control like his scent or the size of his knot or if he whimpers prettily enough.

He shakes his head, and crosses an arm over his stomach, so he can lace Hannibal's fingers with his own. "No," he confesses. "Not with an alpha."

Hannibal's fingers tighten, and his jaw clenches. He lets out a breath far too slow and steady, and Will turns his head further, turns in his arms, kisses his bruised mouth. His lips, swollen and warm, from Will's cock. Hannibal kisses him like he intends to devour Will whole, free hand in his hair to hold him still in a way Will is quickly finding he likes.

"If you'll indulge me a moment," Hannibal says when they part for air. Will can't take his eyes off him, the growing pink stain on his cheeks, his bruised mouth, the promising redness in his eyes. The way his hair has grown just a little flat from the first tease of sweat. "I wanted to discuss some parameters, before we continue."

Will arches a brow.

"I would find it much more satisfying to learn your body without guidance." Will's brow creases and he lets out a quiet, encouraging noise. "To watch your cues and figure out what you like, without being told."

Will smiles. "Learn by doing," he says, and nods. "I get that."

"Of course, if I do something you truly don't like, I would expect you to tell me to stop," Hannibal says.

"At this point I'm not sure there's anything you could do to me that I wouldn't like."

Hannibal's eyes flash, so red and bright it makes Will think of fresh blood. A hunter with his teeth in the artery of its prey, ready to rip. He will be ripped open, he knows that like the rush of his own pulse and the lines in his palm.

"Secondly," Hannibal rasps, and Will smiles to hear how rough his voice has gotten. Even without an omega's or alpha's sense of smell, he can feel Hannibal's desire pouring off of him like a heatwave, sinking into his chest, into his hands. "I want you to follow your instincts. Whatever they might tell you."

Will tilts his head. "I don't -."

"We are all animals, Will, at our core," Hannibal says, and touches his neck, so gently it makes Will shiver. It also makes him arch, shoulders dropping and jaw tilting up a fraction, though Hannibal didn't coax him to do so. Hannibal's smile turns knowing. "I promise, I will adapt to you."

"You just want me to react," Will breathes. It's not a question.

Hannibal nods anyway. "Without shame," he murmurs. He kisses, Will's rushing pulse and his arched neck. His stubble-rough jaw. "Without judgement. Do as you will, and let me react to you in turn."

Will has never had the luxury of doing that, of simply reacting. Hannibal probably understands that already – he wouldn't offer otherwise. As a beta, any attempt to act otherwise would have been met with challenge or indifference. It's why snapping at Jack, ultimately, did nothing. No omega submission to exploit, no alpha blood to spill. Will has never had the luxury of just lying back and enjoying himself.

Hannibal offers that. He _demands_ that. For Will to do as he pleases and reap his own rewards.

Hannibal smiles, knowing Will understands. Their mouths meet again, flickering embers that just need a single gust of air to rise into flames again. Will is still trembling and weak from his orgasm and he can taste himself on Hannibal's tongue, and he's panting and static, because he's waiting for a cue, a direction. But Hannibal won't do anything until Will does.

So Will has to decide. This goes at the subservient pack member's pace.

He sags when Hannibal's hand spreads wide and warm on the nape of his neck, dipping below the open collar of his shirt, damp with sweat. Will wants that power, he wants that control. He wants to feel as powerful as Hannibal must have, even when he was on his knees. He wants to know what it feels like to put his head below the alpha's and see what it's like when their height difference is even more stark. He wants Hannibal to never stop looking at him like this, wants to see if he could do something that would cause Hannibal to snap, to lose control, to just _take_ him.

His mouth is dry and his teeth are too sharp and he'll lose his mind if Hannibal doesn't touch him soon. He's not allowed to say what he wants, isn't going to guide Hannibal. Curiosity compels him to obey for the sake of seeing what will happen. Impatience demands he lunges and take.

The bed sits like an open invitation, but Will didn't earn Hannibal's regard by being predictable.

He draws back when he needs air, his cheeks burning and his heart hammering so loud in his chest it might threaten to break through his ribs completely. He meets Hannibal's eyes.

He sinks to his knees.

Hannibal's hand slides into his hair as he regards Will, watches as Will unbuttons his suit pants and slides the zipper down with trembling hands. Even without the ability to detect alpha pheromones, the scent of sex and arousal is familiar enough – like sweat, but sharper. More urgent.

Hannibal's hand tightens in his hair as Will takes him out, dropping his gaze to look at his cock. It's thick and long, uncut, wet at the tip. He wraps his fingers around the shaft and gently eases his foreskin back, taking the head of Hannibal's cock into his mouth. Hannibal twitches in his hand, snarls lowly, pulls on Will's hair until it hurts and it just makes Will whine, wanting to take more, wanting to fight it.

Hannibal's other hand touches his jaw, knuckles grazing lightly. "Look at me," he commands, and Will obeys, his mouth plugged, lips stretched. Hannibal's eyes are as red as he's ever seen them, pupils so wide, mouth parted. He thumbs at the corner of Will's eye, where reflexive tears are brimming. He sucks in a breath.

Steadies his stance, and pushes his hand to the base of Will's skull, gripping him with nails.

Oh, _fuck_ , yes. Will closes his eyes and moans, rough and loud, as Hannibal slowly pushes into his mouth. Deep and then deeper, until Will has the hysterical thought that it's pushing his collarbones out. Hannibal shudders as he crushes Will's nose to his pubic hair, hands tight on his head to keep him from pulling back. Will can't stop the chorus of ragged noises he tries to make, clogged and choking on his own spit and the thick length in his mouth, bruising his tender muscles, shoving his throat wide.

He tries to move his tongue like Hannibal did to him, shoving the thick back of it against the underside, until his gag reflex makes him spasm and whimper. Still, Hannibal doesn't withdraw. The cat has pinned the mouse in its claws and now watches, curiously, to see how long it will struggle for before accepting its fate.

His lungs burn, he can't breathe. His shoulders fall further, and he relaxes his throat, surrendering to the burn and the buildup. His hands curl around Hannibal's thighs, the back of them, not to push him away but to invite him further in.

He can't hear Hannibal when he purrs, but he feels how his thighs tense and shake with pleasure.

Hannibal pulls back just as slowly, all the way out, and Will gasps, unable to move because of his grip. A thick string of saliva connects his tongue to Hannibal's cockhead, and he licks his lips, breaking it. His breath comes in unsteady heaves and he already feels like he's losing his mind.

Hannibal pulls him in, the second time. Will parts his lips and takes it, squeezing his eyes shut so that the tears fall. He slides his hands up to the small of Hannibal's back, claws in the back of his shirt, desperate for something, anything, _more_. He's gagged and breathless and he just wants _more_.

He heaves as his body starts to fight in earnest, survival instinct overriding the desire to submit, and Hannibal pulls back again, slowly. He's so hard it bruises Will's mouth and he dips his head, licking his saliva and Hannibal's precum from his cock as Hannibal snarls, loudly, above his head.

"Will," Hannibal growls. "Get on your hands and knees."

He releases Will, and Will turns immediately, flattening himself on the little area rug between Hannibal's bed and his miniature sitting area. He fumbles with his own clothes, yanking his shirt over his head and off him instead of messing with the buttons, and goes still when Hannibal laughs, and kneels behind him.

"Did you deliberately choose not to use the bed?" he asks idly, as Will settles on his knees.

No, Will didn't, except he doesn't trust his legs to hold him up and he doesn't want to be at his full height. Plus, the bed is freshly made, he can smell the clean laundry of the sheets. So he says; "I don't like sleeping in the mess."

"Mm." Hannibal, gently, touches Will's bared back, and it's all Will can do to stay still and not arch up into the touch like a plaintive animal. "Yes. I admire your foresight. There is no open chasm in your body, no place to possessively collect and hold my seed." Will moans, clenching his fists, wondering how the fuck Hannibal can make Will's _lacking_ sound so hot. "You'll leak…everywhere."

He sounds pleased by that, uncharacteristically breathless, in a way that makes Will's vision go grey at the edges.

"Hannibal, _please_."

He knows Hannibal is smiling, even though he doesn't turn to look. He thinks if he met Hannibal's eyes now that would be enough to drive him truly insane. His entire body is clenching with anticipation, his cock half-hard with a refractory period he hasn't had since he was a teenager. If it's ever even only half this good, Will would never regret giving himself over to Hannibal completely.

He nods frantically when Hannibal unfastens his slacks and his belt, and pulls them down along with his underwear, so he's bare to his knees. Hannibal doesn't undress him all the way or let him wriggle himself free, instead he kneels on the saddle of Will's clothes, hobbling him and forcing their bodies close together. Will can feel Hannibal's hard, thick cock between his thighs and he wants to spread them, to bow down and make himself as welcoming as possible, but he can't move his knees any farther apart.

He drops to his elbows when Hannibal touches his spine, a single nail dragging to and fro across the knobs of his spine, down like a slow-spilling oil stain. He might be tracing the flush on Will's skin for how warm he feels.

Then, so gently it doesn't feel real, his hand slides below Will's belly, testing how he reacts to pressure at his sternum, his stomach, the crease of his hip. Will arches into the touch, clenching his fists. It feels like Hannibal holds lightning in his hands, each touch like a jolt that sends Will's higher thinking and heartbeat off rhythm. Hannibal's nails graze over his hip, down his thigh, back up as Will shivers. He's not supposed to guide, but he can't help bowing down just a little further whenever Hannibal gets to the tops of his thighs, surprisingly sensitive and begging for his hands. Or his teeth. Or both.

" _Hannibal_ ," he hisses, and receives a hum in answer. "I'm not going to beg like an omega."

Hannibal goes still, briefly, and then he lets out a guilty little laugh. "Forgive me," he murmurs. "It was not intentional."

Will knows it wasn't. Omegas, no matter how much they whine and writhe and beg, know to be good, to hold still and just _let_ alpha do whatever alpha wants. A sharp nip or stern word will calm them and send them to someplace warm and floaty where they can curb their desire and arousal, so that they can exist purely for their alpha's whims.

But Will is not an omega. He doesn't owe Hannibal patience, nor can he simply be expected to provide it.

Any answer he might have given is lost when Hannibal grabs him firmly by the hips and, with no warning, shoves Will forward. Will barely catches himself on his folded arms, and tenses, moaning loudly as he feels the first hot, wet lick of Hannibal's tongue over his hole. It's sudden and burning hot and makes him tense all over, gritting his teeth against the back of his wrist as Hannibal licks into him.

" _Fuck_ ," he gasps, earning a pleased growl in response. Hannibal's nails are tight around his hipbones, he's not going anywhere between the weight of his clothes keeping his knees down and Hannibal's fierce hold. He buries his face in his arms and moans again, shuddering as Hannibal pulls him apart with his thumbs, baring Will for each thick, wet swipe of his tongue.

He's never had this done to him before and immediately knows, if this happens again, he'll demand it over and over. Hannibal's tongue is relentless, sends shockwaves of sensation up Will's spine that settles into his skull and pools in his stomach. His fingers curl in the carpet and drag down, seeking purchase, but there is nothing to grab onto. He wants to collapse to his belly and he wants to arch up all at the same time.

And then Hannibal uses his fingers, too. He's loud and shameless in his touches, piercing Will with two fingers while he sucks on his balls and strokes Will's perineum with his thumb. It's so much, it's almost too much, knife-sharp on the edge of oversensitive. Will is sure he's making noises the rival of a porn star but he can't help himself.

Hannibal finds his prostate at the same time as he reaches between Will's trembling thighs, pulls his half-hard cock back and sucks it into his mouth, and Will cries out so loudly he's sure Hannibal's neighbors hear it. He writhes under the onslaught, panting, sweaty and red, delirious as Hannibal sucks his cock and fucks him with his fingers, each thrust in a forceful push to part Will's tense muscles and he's pinching Will's prostate inside and out, circling it with assured pressure, it's so much, it's too much, it's fucking perfect -.

" _Hannibal,_ fuck, _fuck_ , please -."

Hannibal hums around Will's cock, which is hard now, painfully so. Will hisses a breath through his teeth as Hannibal slowly releases him, and rises with a snarl. He lifts his head when Hannibal's fingers curl through his sweaty hair and yank him up onto his hands.

"You'll be mine by the end of this," Hannibal whispers lowly, and Will _whimpers_. "But I won't bite you if you don't want me to."

"I'll kill you if you don't," Will snarls in reply. He wants it all – he wants to be Hannibal's and he wants Hannibal's bite and he wants to show it to Jack, knowing he can't do a Goddamn thing about it.

Hannibal laughs, and kisses his red neck. "Then we are in agreement?"

" _Yes_."

"Very well."

That's all the warning Will gets before Hannibal is yanking the rest of his clothes off and rolling him onto his back. Will rises to meet him – he's not some weak and submissive omega, he's not going to behave like one. He tears at Hannibal's clothes, baring skin he's only ever dreamed of touching. Hannibal kisses him and Will moans into it, spreading his legs and grabbing Hannibal's sweaty back, his strong shoulders, as Hannibal tucks his hands behind Will's knees and folds him up.

Hannibal braces Will with his arms, hands in Will's hair, around the back of his neck. Will bites his lower lip, hands free enough to slide down Hannibal's heaving flanks, and wrap around his thick cock. It's going to hurt, he's sure it is, he can't get slick like an omega can, can't relax like they do.

"Don't stop," he whispers breathlessly.

Hannibal smiles, wide enough to show his teeth. "Never," he promises, and then he has Will by the hips, lifting him and tugging him hard enough Will's sweaty back burns against the rug. Will angles his cock so he feels the first blunt pressure at his hole. He tries to relax. Hannibal rears over him and kisses his neck as Will tips his head back and sighs.

It burns, _Christ_ does it burn, Hannibal is huge and hard and heavy over him, pinning him down. He grabs Will's wrists and flattens them above their heads, nails at his pulse. He edges his teeth to Will's jaw and rolls his hips, teasing little thrusts that force Will's muscles pliant by tiny increments.

Will wraps his legs around Hannibal, and then his arms when they're released, pawing at Hannibal's sweaty hair and down his warm back as Hannibal grabs at his head and shoulder, unable to resist the alpha urge to cover and corral his mate as he mounts Will. Will turns his head and kisses, gets teeth in his lower lip for his trouble, whines when Hannibal keeps fucking in and in and _in_ until Will feels Hannibal's body solid and strong against his own.

" _Fuck_ ," he whispers, breathless, dazed and dizzy. Hannibal's purr is loud, but also rumbling, and Will can feel it where their chests are pressed together. He clenches around Hannibal's cock, testing his girth, and Hannibal snarls.

Hannibal cups his back and lifts him from the ground, shoulders burning against the rug as he starts up a brutal rhythm. The collision of their bodies is loud and rough and Will moans, dragging his nails up Hannibal's back. He wants to give pain, wants to take it, wants to stain every inch of Hannibal's home with his scent and his blood, to paint the blue and white into patterns of Rorschach red.

Hannibal rears up over him and plants a hand on Will's throat, eyes flashing with pleasure when Will gasps and tilts his head back, giving more open canvas for Hannibal to bruise and claw at and bite. He looks incredible like this, his skin shed, just another animal that Will can call his own. He drags his hands up Hannibal's chest, through the curling, sweaty mass of hair, up his neck, to his mouth.

He forces his fingers between Hannibal's teeth and yanks him down into another fevered kiss. He tugs on Hannibal's hair and Hannibal tightens his grip on Will's throat in answer. Will nods, both permission and enthusiastic encouragement, and Hannibal's hand tightens further, until Will's vision starts to go dark at the edges.

With the last of his strength, Will yanks Hannibal's head savagely to one side, baring the flushed expanse of his throat, and rears up, planting his teeth as far back as he can get them. He finds thick, corded muscle and bites, _hard_ , overcompensating for his smaller fangs with pure brute strength. Hannibal snarls, going still, as Will splits his skin and places the first of his mating bites on Hannibal's neck.

It is, traditionally, where an omega would be bitten. Will chooses that by design.

Hannibal tears himself free and slams Will down hard enough to wind him. Will gasps, licks the blood from his teeth, and cries out loudly as Hannibal's teeth find his heavy pulse and bite down. His teeth are sharper, alphas are made to bite and tear, and pain follows on the heels of his oversensitive body's other screams of agonized pleasure. He feels, almost absently, Hannibal's hand wrap around his cock and stroking him, his teeth kneading at Will's neck so that he bruises and swells and -.

Hannibal is swelling too. The base of his cock is buried in Will and swelling with his knot, forcing Will's muscles apart so suddenly and relentlessly that Will whimpers in pain, clenching his eyes tightly shut. He smells blood that he doesn't think came from the bites; a sharp pain as his rim tears, just a little, until Hannibal manages to shove his knot inside Will and seal himself within.

Will's orgasm is dragged from him by its teeth, as Hannibal releases his neck, nuzzles his jaw and his ear and his hair, purring loud and long as he floods Will's ass, as Will paints his own stomach with his release. He's shaking like he's coming down from an adrenaline rush, moans weakly as Hannibal forces his fingers between Will's lips so Will can lick his own come from Hannibal's fingers.

Hannibal gathers him close, mindful of his huge knot, and Will is so sensitive and overstimulated, wincing at every touch, every motion, gentle or otherwise. Hannibal manages to coax Will onto his side while he remains upright, kneeling at an angle that doesn't tug on his knot but allows Will to rest.

It feels like forever until Will can focus his vision on anything. When he does, he sees the chair legs of Hannibal's sitting area, the edge of the rug, the base of one of his dressers. The locked door, dark beneath.

Hannibal's fingers comb through his sweaty hair, pushing it back from his face and sore neck. Will swallows, clears his throat, and turns his head to nuzzle Hannibal's palm.

He forces himself to open his eyes, to take in the deep flush on Hannibal's face, neck, and chest, the fall of his sweaty hair in front of his reddened eyes, which still glow dully, not quite as fresh blood. There is a bead of blood dripping down his neck from Will's bite, and Will can see the edges of his flanks clawed to pieces, his back probably is even worse.

Hannibal meets his eyes. Will doesn't need his empathy to know that Hannibal clearly wants to cover him, to kiss and nuzzle and pet him as he would an omega, to keep Will safe under his body while they wait out his knot. He sighs, and goes limp on the carpet, wincing when Hannibal's hand touches his burned, sore shoulder.

"I think I'll need some painkillers before we go to sleep," he says quietly.

Hannibal nods. "And bandages," he murmurs, _so_ gently touching the edge of Will's bite. "I went a little deeper than I had intended. Nothing life threatening, but it won't clot as quickly as normal."

"Mm."

Hannibal tilts his head. "You're awfully quiet."

"It's a good thing, promise."

He nods, and carefully arranges himself next to Will, one hand warm on his trembling thigh, the other returning to his hair to pet him, soothing the desire to cover him since their position and Will's injuries don't allow him to do it properly.

Will swallows, and closes his eyes. "This was rash," he says.

Hannibal's hand goes still. "It needn't be permanent," he replies, much too lightly. He's talking the way he does when he's trying to get Will to come to a conclusion on his own – he will not pry, he will not manipulate. No more than he normally does, anyway.

Will smiles. "I didn't say that."

"Will…."

Will turns his head, and meets his eyes. He thinks he can count on one hand the amount of times Hannibal has ever seemed perturbed, much less unsure of himself. He lifts a shaking hand and cups Hannibal's jaw, his body twisting to allow it.

Hannibal tilts his head and nuzzles Will's palm, lashes going low. He sighs, warmly, making Will's fingers curl. "If you'll permit me one more moment of vulnerability from you – do you intend to stay?"

Will laughs. The movement jostles the knot inside him and he immediately goes still, wincing. "I've caught you now, Hannibal," he says. "You're not going anywhere."

Hannibal's eyes flash, brightening with intrigue. His knot goes down, and he carefully pulls out of Will, even though Will still winces when he does it. Hannibal prowls over him, cups his face, and kisses him deeply.

"As helplessly ensnared as your fish," he purrs, sounding remarkably pleased by that. When Will cups the back of his neck he feels the tender, hot wound made by his own teeth. Hannibal arches up into it and merely kisses him again. Will smiles, and sighs when Hannibal kisses the bite, licking it clean. "Are you terribly sore?"

Will hums. He can feel Hannibal leaking from him, more come than he expected, and it stings. He's definitely torn. But that can be blamed on the hasty prep job. He's sure he'll get used to it.

"I'm okay," he says. Hannibal smiles at him, eyes bright. "But if you wanted to dote on me a little, I won't stop you."

Hannibal laughs, and kisses him again. "Of course, darling. I'd be honored."


End file.
